murmer
by F3rn
Summary: There would be a time for crying, and a time for rejoicing. For now, it was time to quietly mourn the dead. Oneshot.


When she was nine years old, before she even knew about Hogwarts, Hermione sneaked downstairs once after she was supposed to be in bed to get a drink of water. As she passed the open living room door, she saw her parents with their backs to her, curled up together on the sofa. For a second she smiled, her inner romantic adoring the scene, before she was transfixed by the television screen. They were watching a film together, about two lovers parted by war. Silently, she sank to the floor to watch, her drink of water forgotten.

Most of the film passed without really sinking in, as at the age of nine the prospect of love separated by imminent death was a confusing one, but there was one particular scene at the end which stayed with her. The soldier had stumbled off the train, blinking in the bright sunlight, gazing around him, and drinking in the scene. In the background there were cries and tears of delight as families and lovers were reunited. At first he thought there was no-one there for him.

But then he saw her- his girlfriend, with whom he had parted so long ago, running towards him. The reason this particular moment fixed in Hermione's nine year old brain was the special effects. All the people surrounding them became blurs of colour as the two rushed into each other's arms. It was a beautiful scene, but what she remembered most were the disconnected faces, expressions of joy clear even through the special effect blurriness, which whisked across the screen behind the sprinting lovers.

She fell asleep. She vaguely remembered her father heaving her up, her mother making some amused comment in a hushed tone, and mumbling about getting a drink of water. After that, the next thing she remembered was waking up to early morning sunshine streaming through the window, the night's excursion only a vague, distant memory.

Hermione had all but forgotten the film nine years later. In fact, if anyone had mentioned it to her before she sank into the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, exhaused by the last battle, she would have had no idea what they were talking about. It took sleep to dredge up the memory.

As she sank into an uneasy slumber, aware that Harry and Ron were keeping a silent vigil by the bodies of the dead down in the Great Hall and wishing she was awake enought to join them, her dreams were plagued by silent, blurred, yet vividly coloured figures. She seemed to be viewing them from a great distance, yet it was as though she ought to be able to reach out and touch them. She could here a faint mumering noise, reminding her both of a distant river and the dimmed sounds of an excited crowd. As she strained forwards, a clear, beaming figure dashed into sight.

It was Tonks. As she staggered to a halt in front of Hermione she held out her hands as though wanting Hermione to take them. Instead, she grinned and changed her nose to the pig-like shape that had so amused Ginny once. Even in her dreaming state, Hermione found herself thinking, "I really shouldn't find that so funny..."

Next came Remus. He strolled into sight looking contented, and twirled Tonks around. "Professor Lupin..." Hermione tried to say, but no sound came out. They seemed to hear her though, as both stopped dancing and beamed at her, before swirling away past her.

After that they came thick and fast. Dobby bowed and smiled widely, and his knobbly knitted hat fell off. Lavendar Brown, whole and unsavaged, simply looked young and eager as she hurried towards Hermione and held out an imploring, "please forgive me?" hand. Fred Weasley grinned roguishly and offered her something that looked suspiciosly like a puking pastille. For some reason (she wasn't sure at the time) she accepted it gratefully and held it tightly in her hand. He smiled again and sauntered off. For a moment there was only swirling colour and unrecognisable faces before the tide of people suddenly swept down on her all together, waving serenely, and the murmering grew louder.

Mad-Eye stumped along, flanked by Prefessor Dumbledore and her old Muggle studies professor, Professor Burbage. Behind them came Sirius, beaming and waving, Colin Creevy, flashing a camera, a wizard whom she recognised vaguely as the owner of the icecream parlour in Diagon Alley and the muggleborn first year whom she had once stopped Ron from taking the best armchair from in the Gryffindor common room. In the middle of the many Hogwarts students she knew only by face and was vaguely sad to find she couldn't name she saw Cedric Diggory looking simply happy, and Hedwig, fluttering along. When she recognised the snowy owl she craned her neck to look for Harry, and was puzzled when she couldn't see him. For that matter, she couldn't see Ron either.

"Hermione..."

That was his voice! She twisted uncomfortably but was unable to spot him.

"Hermione, wake up."

Her eyes jerked open. Ron was leaning over her looking concerned. "You were tossing and moaning," he explained sheepishly. "I though... well, after all we've been through, you might be having a dream you'd rather wake up from."

Hermione sat up, tears starting in her eyes. "They're dead," she whispered. Ron looked understanding, but Hermione felt a desperate need to elaborate as realisation came crashing down on her. "I was dreaming about all the people I know who have died. There would probably have been loads more if you hadn't-" she suddenly remembered. "Ron! Is Harry okay?"

Ron looked startled. "Yeah, he's fine. He's still...downstairs, y'know. I came to check up you. You obviously didn't make it to bed."

"I don't have one here anymore, remember."

"Oh yeah." Neither of them needed to mention how unthinkable it would be to take one of the many empty beds on this of all nights, which would be remaining empty.

"Harry was in my dream," Hermione explained as she sat back, leaning against Ron and gazing into the dying embers of the fire. "At least-" she frowned. "No, I was thinking about him in my dream, because I saw H-hedwig..." she trailed off. "That's why he wasn't there," she whispered. "Because he's still alive."

She felt Ron nod comfortingly against her shoulder, although she doubted he was following any of what she was saying. "Let's go downstairs and walk with Harry," she said.

"Are you sure you're up to it?" he asked concernedly.

"Yes, I'll be fine. I've got a bit of sleep, I'll last the rest of the night. Harry needs us."

"Right."

As she walked down the stairs, leaning on Ron, a long distant memory came to her. A sofa looming in front of her crouched body as she peered around it to see the bright colours of the television screen. "Of course," she breathed, so softly that even Ron didn't hear her in the almost silence. But in the distance, the faint murmers of crying drowned her whisper.

Life wasn't all a bright film with romantic embraces. There was time for that later. The funerals would start tomorrow.

The war was over, but it was time to mourn their dead.

**Review? Pretty please? Then maybe I'll get back to Memories, which I have been neglecting shamefully from a self-centred conviction that no-one cares (and a severe case of writer's block). Seriously - Siriusly - please have a look at my story Memories and review... I'll love you forever and shower you with imaginary cookies...**


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